


Sleep is for the Weak

by firesandpixies



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard is so done with Thranduil's shit, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3541559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesandpixies/pseuds/firesandpixies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What really happens in the bedroom between Bard and Thranduil. </p><p>Alternatively titled: The things Thranduil does when he doesn't sleep at night. </p><p>Inspired by <a href="http://elfandbowman.tumblr.com/post/112617319090/i-keep-imagining-their-nights-together-because">this post from elfandbowman's tumblr</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep is for the Weak

**Author's Note:**

> Barduil is ruining my life. I should be out looking for a job like a responsible, mature adult but here I am, loitering around the internet reading gay fan fiction and ogling at pictures of girls.

For most parts, Bard immensely enjoys waking up to the sun streaming in and Thranduil in his arms. He enjoys the quiet moments a morning can offer where he traces Thranduil's blonde hair, combs his fingers through the soft locks and lightly kisses his lover awake. 

Those were the days. 

He does not, however, appreciate waking up to a pair of icy blue eyes staring right at him from an inch away. 

"My Lord!" Bard jolts back and falls over the bed in a hazardous lump of tangled blanket and limbs. 

"Good morning," Thranduil greets placidly, watching Bard's effort to disengage himself from the mess of silk in undisguised amusement. 

Bard groans. It has been months since he and Thranduil started sleeping together (either in Thranduil's fortress or Bard's modest home). Yet on most days, he forgets that he no longer sleeps alone and gets his guts propelled out of his mouth at the sight of someone sleeping right next to him. It also doesn't help that elves don't sleep much and Thranduil spends his time staring at Bard instead, causing multiple occasions of freaking out for Bard. 

"Humans are so easily frightened," Thranduil muses affectionately, rolling to his side and propping his head on his left palm. Bard gets constant reminders on how absolutely beautiful Thranduil is every waking moment of his life. 

Running his finger through his unruly morning hair, he uses his free hand to throw the blanket back on their shared bed. He chooses to ignore the jibe and instead ask, "Did you sleep?" 

"Hmm," Thranduil hums as a reply, which Bard understands is his way of saying 'no'. 

"What did you do then?" 

"I watched you sleep," Thranduil easily replies, like it is the uncreepiest thing ever. 

"Well, in the human world, it is deemed rather socially inappropriate to watch someone while they sleep," Bard comments as he slides back in bed with his lover. 

Thranduil smiles softly, winding his arms around Bard and pulling him closer. "Well, we aren't exactly conventional now, are we, Dragonslayer?" 

Bard grins, easily finding Thranduil's lips and slides them together. "We are out of this world." 

 

Then there are also days he wakes up alone, sufficiently conscious and capable of not freaking out, and finds an empty bed space where Thranduil should be. Those days suck. Bard's happiness meter instantly lowers on those days. A Bard without Thranduil is not a happy Bard. 

With a sigh, he drags himself out of bed and pads to the toilet, intending to invite Thranduil (who probably in his study room) for breakfast after he washes up. As he looks into the bronze mirror fixed on the wall and meets his reflection, he realises the reason why Thranduil wasn't in bed that morning. 

"Thranduil you son of a cow!" Bard shouts, knowing the elf's supreme sense of hearing would allow Thranduil to hear him from anywhere in his modest home. 

He stares at himself in the mirror for a second longer before sighing and dutifully washing the ink off his face. Some time in the night, Thranduil thought it would be funny to enhance Bard's appearance by drawing on a beard for him - a full on dwarf-like beard. _Curse elves and their lack of need to sleep_ , Bard thinks to himself as he rubs his chin with a wet towel. It doesn’t work - the ink only spreads further across his face. He looks like he is dissolving into darkness.

“I am going to serve veal every dinner!” he yells out the doorway.

Bard swears he hears Thranduil chuckling in the distance. 

 

Nights with Thranduil are never boring. On some nights, they engage in their series of exciting and vigorous bedroom activities; on others, they cuddle and talk about everything under the sun - Bard's discomfort in commanding people around as a king, Thranduil's distaste for dwarves and chickens ("they are loud and ugly"). 

It's almost dawn, and they have spent their whole night whispering about nothing and everything. Tomorrow is Sigrid's birthday and the overzealous town decided to throw her a party. Bard has to wake up early to oversee the preparations. Bard's eyes are drooping close, sinking into a sweet dream, comforted by the general presence of Thranduil beside him. He dreams of his children playing in the fields, picking flowers, basking in the sun, and he- 

"Bard, are you awake?" Thranduil’s voice sounds, deep and soothing.

"No," he groans and buries his head into the welcoming softness of the pillow. 

Thranduil doesn't take no for an answer, and he continues, "but I have something important to ask."

Bard is awake enough to process Thranduil’s sentence and mumbles a disgruntled _"what"_. 

"Which crown should I wear tomorrow?" 

Bard cracks an eye open at this and deadpans. "Seriously?" 

"Yeah," Thranduil replies, absentmindedly fiddling with a lock of his own hair. "Should I go for the silver band? Will the mulberry crown with gold embellishment be too much?" 

Bard sighs and closes his eyes again. "Whatever, Thran, you look good in anything." 

"I suppose so," the elf hums in agreement. 

Bard goes back to sleep, glad that the conversation has ended. He has to be up in a short while; he is going to need all the rest he can get to deal with the entire town tomorrow. He is slowly drifting into dreamland and- 

"Should I braid my hair?" 

"Love, please shut up." 

"Oh, I see how it is," Thranduil says. "So much for being open with each other. I thought you liked talking to me, but now I see it's a lie to get me in bed with you. How dare you, you insolent bargeman of Laketown. You little-" 

A pair of insistent lips manages to shut Thranduil up as he returns the kiss with equal fervor, languidly savoring the moment of intimacy and familiarity. 

"I love you," Bard whispers. "But please let me sleep." 

Thranduil chuckles and tucks a loose piece of Bard's hair behind his ear. "I’ll wake you at dawn, weak little human."


End file.
